During this conversation I
had retired to a corner of the prison-room,
where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who
dared talked of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the
awful boundary between life and death, felt not as I did, such deep and
bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth,
and ground them together, uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul.
Justine started. When she saw who it was, she approached me, and said,
"Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that
I am guilty?"

I could not answer. "No, Justine," said Elizabeth; "he is
more convinced of your innocence than I was; for even when he
heard that you had confessed, he did not credit it."

"I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude
towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection of others
to such a wretch as I am! It removes
more than half my misfortune; and I feel as if I could die in peace, now
that my innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin."

Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed
gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in my
bosom, which allowed of no hope or consolation. Elizabeth also wept, and
was unhappy; but hers also was the misery of innocence, which, like a
cloud that passes over the fair moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish
its brightness. Anguish and despair had penetrated into the core of my
heart; I bore a hell within me,
which nothing could extinguish. We stayed several hours with Justine; and
it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear herself away. "I
wish," cried she, "that I were to die with you; I cannot live in this world of
misery."